


After Baden Hill - Blowing out the candle

by freddiejoey



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddiejoey/pseuds/freddiejoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And every warrior deserves some fun.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Baden Hill - Blowing out the candle

Part One

“My apologies Dirk. I seem to have neglected something important.” It’s Kai’s voice, coming through the wicker wall. That’s right, this morning he and devious Dirk and raffish Rolf have to conclude some negotiations concerning hunting rights in the great oak forest. Kai is reluctantly acting as their scribe since, like Llud, Dirk has never learned to read and write and Rolf claims to only possess rudimentary skills (our father says that Rolf is simply an indolent liar – that if he can write songs, he can certainly set out the terms for a fundamental treaty and no doubt, Llud is right.)

I look drowsily around the bedroom of Mark’s guest quarters, not seeing what my big brother could have mislaid while I still slept…….. There is his axe propped up against a chair but he’s wearing his sword belt, his knife is gone and his purple shirt and spare breeches and his boots……. The door flies open and in strides Kai, all golden and early-morning handsome and smelling of fragrant orange oil.

Before I can utter a word, he bends and kisses me in a way that sets my soul on fire, softens my knees like broken water. “There, I said I’d neglected something and I had – the most important task of my day little brother now that you’re awake. Oh and just to ensure that nothing else is overlooked – I love you, you’re beautiful, you always make me happy and I’ll miss you every moment of the day that you’re not beside me.” Kai gives his wide-as the-sky grin, winks devilishly and walks purposefully out again……

Dirk enquires politely if my brother has found what he sought. I can hear the amusement below his equally courteous reply. “Yes, and highly satisfactory it was too.” They move away, towards Mark’s longhouse, Dirk undoubtedly wearing an increasingly mystified expression. Soon I too will have to climb out of bed, go and find Mark, think about boundaries and maps – and in a moment I certainly will……. But, right now, it would be impossible anyway since I am simply melting in happiness, glowing among the stars, bathing in the sun’s sweet liquid joy……

We are here in Cornwall for a week and four days have already past. A meeting of the Celtic chieftains to ascertain what terms should be offered to Cerdig when he and I meet at Yorath’s near the end of the summer. So far, all has gone well. Since Baden Hill a few months ago, they have all been much more biddable. And if anyone threatens to become recalcitrant, Mark is ready to wallop them with the stout wooden crutches Krist fashioned for him while his thigh heals. Still, when the Saxon treaty is made, I want no disgruntled arguments that this has been neglected, something else overlooked, so that Cerdig has been unduly advantaged. Meanwhile, though, there is just one small problem……..

Kai and I are being accommodated in Mark’s main guest quarters. A spacious comfortable building with two bedrooms. In the first is Ambrose and Tarn – understandable since Tarn is married to one of Ambrose’s many daughters – and in the other is Kai and me…… and Rolf’s son Dyllan.

Why? I’m not sure. What I am sure about is that it is annoying, inconvenient and downright frustrating. Rolf is ensconced up in the longhouse – but Dyllan is right here, a few feet away, his gear becoming far too friendly with ours. We have had one stroke of good luck – Dyllan has quickly formed a liaison with a pretty young thing whose husband is away hunting so he is not in his bed all the time at night. Yet, often enough to be a confounded nuisance………

Therefore, in the interests of discretion and satiation, my big brother and I have devised a warning system. (Well, we are quite conversant with them after all this time – and I am not talking about the system surrounding the village that Morcant tried to evade.) If one of us goes to bed before the other and Dyllan is happily roosting with his dark-haired big-breasted chicken, then a juicy fig, from Mark’s generous table, is left in the middle of the stool outside our door. Safe then to leap inside, throw off breeches, plunge into ecstasy……….. But if bloody Dyllan is snoring in the corner, the wooden bowl can remain fig-less.

In fact, Dyllan is a personable young man – intelligent, completely sane (needing a mention considering his dubious patriarchal connections) and recently a widower. Obviously this dalliance is some sort of solace for his loss. And it would be nice if he could spend every moment of darkness dallying in her hut…….

He did not appear at all last night (Alleluia!) and I am buckling on my sword by the time he comes in whistling, giving me a friendly nod, clearly replete. Indeed the dilemma around midnight had been of quite a different nature from the obstacle of Dyllan’s presence. My big blonde beautiful Saxon brother can be …… somewhat loud when he is……. feeling appreciative of your efforts. So….. I was pleasuring, gladdening……. alright, exuberantly inside my Kai and he was being joyfully appreciative………

Wicker walls are rather thin and Ambrose and Tarn are but a small alcove away. Let’s just say, there was much stifling against sheepskin, and, at one point, I was laughing so hard that everything was in danger of collapsing before fruition…….. Not helped again later when I decided it would be diverting to indulge in some tickling of certain twin golden gems……..

Mark and I spend quite a productive day sitting in the sun outside his longhouse, examining the maps which the monks have prepared. Delineating the boundaries which will safeguard the future for our children. During the afternoon I notice that Garet and Gawain have at last found gainful employment, keeping Mark’s Tristran and Iseult company among their hoops, sticks and stilts. A little while later Eithna flits out of the longhouse, hair unbound, clad in boyish sable breeches, a basket of fleeces that require beating clenched against one slim hip.

“Ah, dearest dove. Would that I was not still lame and could assist you in your laborious endeavours.” Eithna throws her husband a look that I would interpret as sceptical yet Mark clearly sees as bemused affection. My Cornish cousin sighs in contentment. “One thing, we have been lucky with Arthur. Our choice of wives. Kai too.” I stab a finger along the map outlining the perimeters of Corin’s territory. “Yes, Rowena is the only woman I have ever truly loved – as Lenni is for Kai.”………… Cerdig and Corin will have to share fishing rights, hopefully in an amicable fashion……… Mark sighs again, smiling happily.

“And you and your brother are truly blessed. Rowena and Lenni have always seemed so extraordinarily………. understanding.” Now I glance up sharply from my contemplation of Cerdig’s parchment borders, wondering if by some remote chance……… but Mark is once more gazing in adoration at Eithna’s bottom, transparently innocent. “Splendid how wives can know all about your little foibles and still be remarkably forbearing – as you are every day with me, beloved hazelnut.”

This time, Eithna simply appears exasperated, slapping a sheepskin with singular force. Decisively I clear my throat. This conversation has gone on long enough……… “Here is an extremely isolated length of coastline. What would happen if a Saxon longboat beached there Mark?.......”

At sunset Kai reappears, grinning, my heart bounds, and Mark hobbles back inside, eager to enjoy Eithna’s ministrations. Following Kai to the guest quarters, I, in turn, am entranced by the sight of a tight black-clad arse, hoping that Dyllan will be fortunate tonight, praying that a rosy fig will be wallowing in the wooden bowl outside our door………

 

Part Two

Sharing my life with Arthur has always been wondrous………. Since Baden Hill though it has somehow been even more miraculous…….infinitely more precious……and promising.

The first time we attempted to make a treaty with Cerdig, when Yorath led the way, Arthur said that he wanted to take the wooden swords from our village boys and send them to play in the forest. That time we did not succeed – those boys have inevitably grown into warriors. Now though we have another opportunity and this time the boys wielding the wooden weapons include our own sons. With Cerdig as a firm ally, everything could be so different: the Picts hammered into the cold of the north, the Scots subdued, the Angles brought to heel. A life of peace and plenty………

Although a different sort of plenty eludes us for the next few nights. The husband of Dyllan’s sweetie returns from hunting – we have fresh boar but suddenly no fresh providence. It is certainly much more than nice to share a bed with my little brother. But, in true brotherly tradition, we do so fully clothed, lying on opposite sides in case Dyllan should glance over and spy anything…….. inappropriate. Holding hands under the blankets is also very sweet – what it does not help is my granite-like unrequited cock, determined to make a tent out of the coverings, deliriously seeking Arthur’s tender cleft as a homing rabbit does its warm warren………

On our last afternoon in Mark’s village, I send Arthur to find Eithna and wheedle some seedlings from her. Why? You may well ask. Cornwall is almost an island and its climate is especially mild, with rare days of snow and few days of frost – so gardens flourish here. Eithna has inherited the large garden that once belonged to Mark’s mother, behind the longhouse. Recently Lenni and Rowena have decided that they too would like to cultivate something near our longhouse – medicinal plants, as well as more fruit and vegetables and some things that simply look pretty. Perhaps it is their way of literally establishing fresh roots after the uncertainty of Baden Hill – certainly they, along with Maeve and Kaitlin, are enthusiastic about the idea. Hence inveigling Eithna ( never Lenni’s favourite person, but as she signed before we left, supplicants cannot nit-pick.) Hence dispatching Arthur since Eithna and I share a certain best-forsaken history while she has always been rather fond of my little brother………

I see him, just before dusk, coming from the back of Mark’s longhouse, carrying a number of items wrapped in sacking. So, his beguiling has succeeded. Arthur smiles triumphantly, I have to retreat hastily to the privy or syrup my breeches where I stand - and when I re-emerge he is in earnest conversation with weaselly Rolf. Probably a final warning about our moon-struck neighbour not being tempted to raid Saxon food trains – although Rolf has been fairly placid for several years now.

At the feast that night I am seated beside Ambrose who becomes increasingly tipsy and maudlin. From his other side, Arthur throws me a look of amused despair. “Your wife is a Jute,” he lisps drunkenly, “Jutes are lusty creatures……and she’s borne you a healthy son as well as two daughters.” Ambrose, the father of seven girls, emits a mawkish sob. “And you” – he slaps my arm as I reach for my cup – “you have three male children – three! Imagine! Years ago I asked Llud why his two fine sons remained unmarried and he was reticent on the subject. Yet I guessed the reason Kai” – Arthur splutters into his mead – “ too much wenching on your part, too much of a roving eye whenever a shapely haunch of meat tripped past – but, look how all that has changed – I wager you haven’t even looked at another woman since taking your wife.”

Ambrose smiles benevolently while it is now Mark who slobbers and coughs into his adder’s sting, having found the imitation Roman’s last remark astoundingly funny for some unaccountable reason. Krist pounds his chieftain enthusiastically on his burly back. Across the table Rolf smiles broadly in a particularly demented fashion. “ If you followed Christ, instead of Mithras, you would know that such miracles happen readily Ambrose. Take myself – once a wicked plunderer, but transformed, by God’s grace, into the penitent preacher sharing your repast tonight. And I have been faithful to my loving wife Idella for many years.”

He sighs beatifically, manic eyes sweeping Arthur and I. “Ever since your mighty father of the silver hand made me see the grave error of my ways. I know you must be familiar with the relevant scripture Kai – there will be more joy in the kingdom of heaven and so forth. Ah……. Nothing is more fulfilling than living a life constantly borne aloft on the wings of brotherly affection.” This time Mark spits his wine straight into the rushes, convulsed by irrepressible guffaws, Arthur leans over to thump his choking cousin, looking somewhat alarmed, and Rolf beams around with the true benignity of the blissfully deranged…….

Near midnight I make my way hopefully back to the guest quarters. Arthur has made his excuses and already retired, Ambrose and Tarn are still steadily drinking in the longhouse – now, if only Dyllan is energetically occupied elsewhere and there is a fat sweet fig gloating in that wooden bowl………. Stumbling through the outer door, I glance toward our bedroom……The bowl is obstinately, starkly empty – so, no – Dyllan is in residence and our luck continues paltry. Oh well, remaining clad and hand-holding again tonight……..

The first thing I see is the fig tree, standing resplendent in its clay pot on Dyllan’s bed, drooping with dark sweet pendant fruit – the second is Arthur, sitting nakedly resplendent in the middle of our bed, beckoning with dark sweet ripe hardness…… My little brother grins. “So, my Kai, I thought it was high time for young Dyllan to have a fatherly conversation with Rolf. I mentioned it this afternoon and Rolf seemed most amenable………Although one fig was never going to be enough to show you…….” He reaches up to dust a whispery kiss across the corner of my mouth…….. “what I have been craving……”

Weak with desire, I return the kiss, revelling in the feel of his warm silken lips against mine, the touch of his warm dextrous fingers unlacing my shirt, tickling the band of my breeches……….The tickling stirs a rousing memory from a few nights ago – hurtling toward a frenzied moment when I was certain to bellow, else suffocate among the fleeces……. Arthur laughing ebulliently above me……… those same provocative fingers gleefully caressing my balls ………

Faintly I can hear Ambrose and Tarn approaching the guest quarters, singing some bawdy drunken song. I smile quietly to myself – Arthur had thought it so amusing to make me suffer such exquisite torment……… Well, two can play at that game – little brother………

Without warning, I catch Arthur up in my arms and pitch him headfirst among the sheepskins. He lands in a delicious heap, beautiful firm bottom in the air, peering up quizzically through his silky fringe of black hair. “Kai, my heart, what….?” Grinning, I recall that, yes, I definitely did bar the door……..

Scooping up a handful of the fragrant oil ready beside the bed, I smear his glistening cleft, tenderly spread apart his whipcord arse, hear him whimper deep in his throat, plunge in my tongue………..

Playfully pushing and probing, I lick along one lean moist cheek, giving a gentle bite for good measure as Tarn and Ambrose lurch through the outer door. Arthur moans in rapture and I thrust my tongue deeper……… “Arthur? Kai? I can see your candle still burning, (How true young Tarn!), Would you like to join Ambrose and I for a last cup of mead?” I raise my face from Arthur’s writhing bottom, blithely insert three enterprising fingers instead. Arthur shudders, suppresses a fierce grunt, swaddles his lovely dark head in an obliging sheepskin………..

“I think we’re just going to finish what we’re doing and then sleep. Thank you Tarn.” If I bite my lip any harder it will bleed or I will throttle on stifled laughter…….. while soon my rigid cock will simply erupt of its own accord……. Snaking downwards, I find the supple area between the base of my little brother’s lush balls and his dewy opening…….. start to bath it deliriously with my tongue………

Ambrose scratches cheerfully at the door as Arthur pitches and pants, inadvertently allows a thundering groan to escape, swathes his mouth in another handful of fleeces…. “Are you two alright in there? You’re not ill? I thought I heard…..” Teetering near the brink, I enfold his throbbing prick within my ravenous hand, feel his deft fingers spidering down my swollen shaft……… From inside his sheepskin hood, Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes meet mine, brimming with love………

I hardly get the words out coherently or in time……. “No……. all well….. Ambrose, Tarn…..Goodnight…………..” and emphatically I blow out the candle…….

Some time before dawn Dyllan comes knocking softly. “Kai? Arthur? Can I come in?” Arthur’s naked body is wrapped around mine. We are blessedly warm…….. completely safe……… utterly content……. My little brother sleepily kisses my mouth. “ Leave him. There’s a pile of sheepskins beside the hearth. And we both know now how hospitable they can be………” He shelters against me again and I fall back asleep smiling…..

Mark comes to see us off the next morning, shuffling on his stout crutches. Kai is convinced that he doesn’t really need them any more, that it’s all an act to keep garnering Eithna’s sympathy. Now my big brother straps the last of the plants and seedlings for Lenni and Rowena’s garden to our pack pony – it happens to be that fig tree……. Grinning up at me, he reaches under the sacking and pulls off a plump fruit, peels back its skin with his sharp white teeth, bites into the yielding ruby flesh………

Chewing on my lip I swing onto horseback, keeping my eyes determinedly downcast, desperate not to laugh out loud. I have told Kai about Mark’s veiled insinuations the other day and now he is blatantly taking the piss……. My cousin narrows his brown eyes, looks suspiciously from Kai to me and back again, frowns, scratches his beard.

Bestowing his most dazzling smile, Kai clasps Mark’s hand. “Thank you for your lavish generosity. Home now though to our extremely tolerant wives, our extremely benevolent father and those seven extremely boisterous children.” For the first time, the King of Cornwall, looks somewhat uncertain. “Seven, yes, you’ve certainly……” “Filled that longhouse,” Kai finishes for him brightly, “Not bad for two such…… late starters.”

Kai knees his horse into a gallop and we ride off westwards……( no doubt leaving Mark to realise that he actually started even later than us, to wonder if ensconcing Dyllan in the corner had actually been a vast waste of time after all, to calculate wildly how much longer he can possibly cling to his crutches and Eithna’s indulgence………..) Winking, Kai grins at me and I laugh, simply happy to be here, alive in this moment, with him. Kai………. Llud’s foundling…….my lieutenant ……… my big brother……….my heart……….


End file.
